The Death of Stalin is troubling.
For a movie set decades ago, in a post-Stalin Russia, the recent release feels almost absurdly modern. The bumbling officials (played by some of the biggest names in comedy) are surprisingly blood-thirsty shepherds and a nation of mourners are their unsuspecting flock. It is almost too fresh, especially when playing within the confines of our current political climate.
But troubling is the point.
From the incredible mind of Armando Iannucci (the creator of HBO’s Veep), this retelling of the aftermath of a dictator’s demise is the cinematic antidote to our current political strife. It is the comedic equivalent of The Post, but with more bloody headshots and less Meryl Streep, or All the President’s Men, but with a vengeful, biting, bumbling Deep Throat.
Iannucci tells a brisk story, reminiscent of his early seasons of Veep (albeit an episode if Julia Louis-Dreyfus’ Selina had died of a heart attack and her staff was left to pick up the pieces). From the movie’s opening scene, a comedic orchestral introduction almost reminiscent of the opening shots of Inglorious Basterds, to its twisting climax, The Death of Stalin is a tightly written (tightly performed) piece of satire.
Nearly every character is important, providing deep context to a well-built landscape, not typically afforded in the script of a cut-and-dry comedy. These characters (especially Steve Buscemi’s Khrushchev and Jeffrey Tambor’s Malenkov) go through well-told arcs, weaving in a very interesting political narrative with very dark political comedy. At times, it is odd to watch: knowing that the real-life counterparts to these on-screen antics are historical murderers and rapists. It is a testament to the quality of the performers, however, each playing their part with absurdity, during a very tough balancing act.
Some plot points (like the mysterious piano player or the whiny son of the dictator) are dropped inconspicuously during the run-time, but the overall telling remains very strong. And, as an added treat for literally just me, Return of the Jedi’s General Crix Madine (Luther’s Dermot Crowley) makes an appearance, beardless, and I am glad I was able to contain my excitement (a similar reaction to when I saw him pop up in last year’s The Foreigner.)
Satire is often not afforded its chance to shine, pushed aside by Saturday Night Live’s drawn-out impressions and Alec Baldwin’s spray tan. It is refreshing to put (rather depressing) current affairs in a new, creative light, showcasing a nameless political machine (filmed before our current president took office) and highlighting, much like Veep, the behind-the-scenes workings of impending political upheaval.
